


Keep Your Hands on the Wheel

by SteRhubarb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteRhubarb/pseuds/SteRhubarb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My imagining of the missing scene from EntangledNow's Keep Your Eyes on the Road Ahead fic. Castiel is fallen, and blind, but Sam and Dean need to go out on a job and leave him in the motel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Hands on the Wheel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [entanglednow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Keep Your Eyes on the Road Ahead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/149150) by [entanglednow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow). 



> I wrote this as a sort of tribute to 'Keep Your Eyes on the Road Ahead', which just blew me away.  
> I just felt like I needed to know what happened with Cas and the demon while Dean and Sam were gone, and this happened. So, yeah.

Castiel stays at the motel. Dean makes sure to let everybody know that he is far from happy about it. Even as Sam is out of the door, Dean on his heels, he’s still complaining.

“This is a stupid idea. You should’ve gone to Bobby’s-“ He points at Cas, who is perched on the end of the bed, knife lying just within reach beside him. He says nothing, does nothing. Just sits there. Dean knows Castiel can’t see him pointing, so lowers his hand and sighs just as he hears Sam slam the boot down a little too harshly.

“ _Dean_.” He sounds exasperated. “C’mon, man, he’s got the cell and the knife. He’ll be fine. Let’s get going.”

“Alright,” he says to both of them, then just to Cas, “We’ll be as quick as we can.”

Castiel nods, the slightest dip of his head once before Dean shuts the door and locks it from the outside. Cas listens to the growl of the Impala’s engine, the gravel crunching as the boys turn onto the highway and leave him alone in the motel. 

He’d never really been alone before. Even when he was physically alone, he’d always had that connection to heaven. There was always something to listen to, somewhere to go mentally, but now there is only silence, and the Winchesters are the only things that make it bearable. Without them, the nothingness is a reminder of everything he has lost.

But he’s done this dance before, and he has his routine that keeps him from tearing his hair out from feelings of boredom, and uselessness, and anger at Dean for leaving him behind. There’s even some resentment toward Sam for not fighting his brother’s idiotic decision, and admittedly, a little at himself for giving in so easily. It’s overwhelming, and it’s all Castiel can do not to go out of his mind, alone in these motel rooms.

He gets up and turns the nicotine-stained TV on, just for something to fill the blaring silence. It’s late, so there are only commercials playing at this hour, but Castiel doesn’t mind the repeat of incessant car-dealership guys and innovative cooking-gadget ladies, with their irritating voices. It doesn’t matter, it’s only there for background noise. 

Cas lets it play to itself as he wanders around the room, constantly familiarising himself with furniture, their belongings, and the places which the boys have moved them to and from during the course of the day. He touches the old, suede jacket that Dean gave to him when the overcoat began sprouting frayed threads here and there, but he never wears it and so it stays hung up beside the door in each room they pass through. On the window ledge, a hold-all full of the shared clothes sits agape, and Sam’s laptop on the small round table where he’d left it after researching all afternoon. 

Once he completes two rounds of the room, he wanders into the bathroom and stands in front of the mirror. The light stays off, not like he needs it anyway, and stares hard towards where he knows the reflection will be, filling in the blank with his own memory of Jimmy’s face, knowing that his vision will never return and he will never see it again. In all honesty, Cas is okay with that realisation. He knew Jimmy in a way that will never leave him. It’s the other faces he wishes he could see. 

He finds the tap and splashes some water over his face, dries it quickly on a towel he grabs for beside the basin, then stops in the doorway to the room as he hears footsteps outside. Their pace suggests an intent that has Cas moving toward the light switch beside the front door, flicking the room into darkness. He always tells Dean not to bother leaving the light on when they go out on a hunt, but he always forgets. 

Castiel has his back pressed again the small wall partition separating the door and the window as he listens to the direction of the footsteps. His right ear brushes the sleeve of his jacket as he screws his eyes shut - coming from the left would be from reception, right and they could be returning to a room. He holds his breath and he thinks he can tell. 

They move in, towards the door, from the parking lot and they increase in speed before stopping for a beat outside the door. 

Cas has opened his eyes for only a second before the crack of the splintering doorframe has him bent double, arms up to shield his face from the shards of wood. 

The smell of sulphur precedes them by a second, but they’re already stepping over the threshold before Castiel can even begin to move toward the bed.

“Oh, Castielllll!” The demon sing-songs in the voice of a middle-aged, male, smoker. A large, rough hand reaches out and grabs the collar of Cas’ coat as he lunges towards the knife he knows is laid out on the bed. It jerks him backwards; snatching the breath from his lungs, then spins him easily to wrap a clammy hand around his throat, raising him off his feet. “ _Hey_ , little angel!”

Cas curls his hand firmly around the demon’s wrist, tries to press a little slack into the grip so he can breathe and cough out a reply. “Not… An angel.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I choking you?” The demon tilts his head to consider Castiel. “I did hope you would put up more of a fight than this. Did I catch you at a bad time? Cleaning your wings?”

Cas grabs the arm with both hands, trying to balance out his weight, take some strain off his neck, but it does nothing to help, and a growl escapes him. He screws his eyes shut against the throbbing in his head as he slowly asphyxiates.

“Sorry? What was that?” He draws Cas closer so the smells of cigarette smoke and garlic fill the small, pathetic gasps of air Castiel can manage. His eyes flicker open and his jaw clenches in determination.

“I said ‘I’m not… an angel’-“ Castiel coughs out then quickly tightens his grip on the wrist as he slams the heel of his right hand into the demon’s elbow. It straightens then snaps in one quick motion, and Cas is dropped to his feet as the guy cries out and cradles his arm for a second. It gives Cas enough time to take a deep breath and centre himself in preparation for the punch he knows will come, and that he needs to take.

Sure as hell, the demon lands a right hook solidly across Cas’ face and he swears he hears something crunch there, but there’s no time to dwell on the pain. He lets the impact turn him and uses the connection to grab hold of the wrist, give him a sense of where the head is so he can snap out a sharp left which lands high on the demon’s cheekbone. 

A quick follow up with the right hand catches the very bottom of the chin, doing nearly nothing in slowing the guy down, so Cas makes a move for the bed. He’s knows he’s gonna need the knife if he wants to put this guy down.

Reaching the end of the bed, he rakes a hand across the sheet, praying he won’t sweep it over the edge in his haste, when the demon grabs his waist, collapsing them both face-down onto the bed. The hilt of the knife presses under his left rib, but the guy is grabbing his shoulder and turning him over before he can begin to pull it out. 

There’s a tear of fabric as he’s rolled over, the blade slicing up the lining of his precious coat and coming rather close to carving his chest up, before another hand moves to grip his neck. Cas lifts his right leg to put some weight behind a kick that sends the demon into the opposite wall. It gives him enough time to roll off the bed and snatch up the knife.

He’s backing up to the window when the demon comes for him again, his heavy footsteps giving Cas some idea of proximity, but he waves the knife a second too early and the demon steps back to appreciate it, chuckling in realisation.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Are you-?” It snaps it’s fingers and watches as Cas jerks his head a fraction at the sound. “Well, shit. The little angel’s blind! I didn’t even know that was possible? Don’t you feathered folk have a way of fixin’ shit like that in a jiffy? Like, a click o’ your fingers and you’re all in one piece again?”

Castiel frowns hard and clenches his jaw, tightens his grip on the handle of the knife and brings it a little closer to his chest.

“Oh, okay. I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it. That’s alright! I gotta admit, I’m surprised I didn’t realise sooner; you’re still pretty sharp despite it, but don’t worry, being blind will be the least of your problems in a minute, anyway.” The demon steps up, taking slow steps into Cas’ space until he’s backed up against the window ledge. 

Castiel makes a quick swipe but the demon sees it coming and stops his hand in its path to his chest, holds it out to the side where the knife can do no harm, and replaces one large hand around Cas’ throat.

A small jagged breath escapes him as the demon leans in again. “Poor little angel.” It sneers, and Cas misses its eyes turning black, doesn’t know how close he comes to seeing his brothers and sisters again tonight, before he loops his left hand between their bodies and drops the out of reach knife into his empty hand. 

“I’m _not_ an angel.” He growls, following up those three quick steps with an even faster finish as he swipes high across the throat of the demon. The spray of blood catches him as he drops back to his feet, lower back hitting the ledge behind him.

The thud of the body hits the floor as solid confirmation, but everything is still on defence mode, adrenaline still coursing. Cas moves along the window ledge to the door to close it and then crosses over to the bed. He drops the knife as though the handle is on fire, then paces over to the back wall, braces himself there with one hand and just breathes, slow and deep.

“I’m not an angel.” He repeats quietly, blind eyes staring at where his hand soaks the wall in demon blood.

He stands there for almost three hours before Sam and Dean return. Sometime between he remembers to scrub a sleeve over his bloodied face, and surprisingly, manages to clean most of it off.

He’s too lost in his thoughts to recognise the rumble of the Impala pull up outside or the squeak of the broken door. It isn’t until Dean touches his shoulder that he comes back to himself.


End file.
